Inspired
by onefishtwofish
Summary: Chapter 4: Hands Down: I finally knew that even if she hadn't been sure, even if I had been wrong, I would have taken her certainty, her kiss, and even her destruction, if that were what she wanted.
1. Nobody Knows

_General Notes: Hello there! Thanks for checking in! This story (I'm thinking this will be more than a single one shot) will be a collection of short one shots inspired by various songs. I am attempting a sort of iPod shuffle because I have problems getting going on stories these days, and these can be short and sweet, and give me a theme to launch off on. At least that's the hope. I'm not doing it traditionally; I'm allowing myself to use only the title, the sentiment, or just bits and pieces, stanzas or verses, however I see fit. I should tell you: I'm not super into song fics. When I read them, I generally jump over the lyrics. I will try and make these as readable as possible, and when I do use lyrics, I will make sure they are important and applicable to the story line. So I'm go__ing to give this a shot. I am posting now and not once I've written them all because like I said, I'm feeling discouraged with writing, and I could use some encouragement to continue, or not. This is not my best work, but I hope it will be enjoyable none the less, and I'm thinking they will get better as I get back into the swing of things! Please read and review if you liked it!_

_Title: Nobody Knows_

_Inspiration: Nobody Knows, by Pink_

_Summary: Ranger snaps, Stephanie sees._

_Genre: Angst, Romance_

_WARNING: This features a somewhat angsty Ranger. There is mention of rape, murder/killing (only bad guys), and a brief, nondescript sexual interlude. None is particularly descriptive, but this is rated M FOR A REASON. Please do not read if this material is offensive to you! If it is not, read on and enjoy!_

* * *

I slammed the door shut and hastily dropped my keys into the dish by the door.

I went strait to the fridge and wretched it open, grabbing a beer and popping the top off on the edge of the counter.

There were so few days when I needed a beer, but today was one of them. I wanted to relax. I wanted to get that dreamless sleep that comes with alcohol. I wanted to get so pissed drunk I would forget. Forget her. Forget the way her lips parted when I entered a room. Forget the way her eyes shown with light as though they had never known darkness. The way her skin trembled against me when I touched her.

But most of all, I wanted to forget her forgiveness. Her understanding. Her damn tolerance of the fact that I was a monster.

I didn't think I would be able to hide it forever; it was who I was. Of course it was going to come out eventually. I just didn't think she would be present to witness the deep, dark caverns of my soul take over.

He had tried to rape her. That was the only thought that resonated through my head as I saw through a disgusting cloud of red, and then saw nothing. I heard the gunshots. I smelled the gunpowder. I felt my muscles tense and release in pleasure when my vision returned and his brains were splattered across the wall.

_The road of darkness has a way of always knowing my name._

_I think nobody knows._

_Nobody knows,_

_Nobody knows but me._

Accept now she new.

Sure, my men, especially Tank, Lester, and Bobby, had seen me kill. Tank had been there to see my eyes darken, he had seen me not hesitate, he had seen me kill in cold blood. He and the others saw my darkness.

But they saw it die too. They saw me reel it back in, and I could only assume, they thought it went away. Only I knew that it stayed, not quite as buried as everyone thought. It swelled inside of me, and I felt it haunt me, taunt me, corrupt me.

It made me a monster.

Because in that black hole there was no regret. There was no lapse in judgment. There was no remorse or even tentatively. I didn't lose control. I didn't do what was necessary. I killed because I wanted to.

She had seen.

She was fine after he attempted to rape her three weeks ago, or as fine as she could be. She did her denial.

And I had boiled. It had started as a soft simmer in my gut, and I knew that the longer it took to find him, the hotter it would get. By the time we strapped him to the chair, he was as good as dead, and the simmer was red hot.

I had not hesitated. I had glanced at her, asked if she wanted to leave, and after the shake of her head, I had looked back at him with nothing but disgust. I pulled the trigger, without doubt, without so much as a second thought.

And while Bobby and Tank went to clean up, Tank laying a hand on my shoulder briefly and saying quietly that it had to be done, I turned to her.

She wasn't mortified. Not even shocked. But as I turned to her, I met her eyes and I knew that she could see through me like nobody else could. She gasped, seeing past the blank face, past the glass I had placed over my eyes, and past my façade. She saw into the black, deep ugliness in my soul, and she knew that I was a monster. She finally understood that people had a reason to be scared of me.

I had hid it for so long, nobody knew it was there except me. And now her.

I had downed my third beer by the time I heard the door click open, soft taps of shoes, and I tensed.

If she knew that I was to be feared, what was she doing here?

And I knew it was her. I knew it was her because nothing could make me forget the sound of her gait, the hum of her breath flowing in and out, the rustle of her gigantic purse against her small body.

And it reminded me just how small she was. Just how vulnerable. Just how easy it would be for me to crush her if the monster ever saw red and she was in the warpath.

She needed out of my life. Away from me. She needed to be safe.

* * *

I dropped my purse on the stool next to his counter, and watched him avoid my eyes.

I had been surprised. First, that he hadn't demanded I leave before he calmly pulled the trigger, and then at the agony I had seen in his eyes when it was done.

I hadn't been surprised at the pleasure that gleamed in the black orbs alongside the pain.

I knew Ranger. He had killed before, many times, and in cold blood. I knew what he was capable of, and expected that he would enjoy ending the life of the person who had so nearly stolen mine. I think he tried to hide it from me, but I never expected any different of him.

While he had never been what people in the Burg would describe as totally sane, I somehow understood the mentality behind killing. At least when he did it. He didn't live a legally grey life because he liked to j-walk. He led one because he did things like this.

And it didn't bother me. Not at all. It scared me how much I wanted to watch the lights leave the eyes of that bastard. And while I knew Ranger felt things, I also knew that he had no qualms about killing him for me.

So when he turned, and I saw the deep, penetrating anguish grip him, my breath caught. For him to feel this, after the amount he had seen of this world, the amount he had engaged in war; I never realized the toll it would take on him. Never imagined that he was sacrificing. And while I didn't see regret there, I saw disgust, self disgust, rip through him, and I knew in that moment what he thought.

I saw it now, too.  
The living room was lit only with the hall light, and the colors of his home and the lighting made the room have a sort of blue tinge. He leaned against the counter and I counted three empty beer bottles.

I had never known him to drink more than one. I wondered what he mourned for.

"Go away, Babe," he said, not looking up.

It wasn't harsh. It wasn't said with enough energy to be, but it ripped through me as though he had just sent another bullet flying, but this one was aimed for my heart.

There was something about his voice: disgust, absolute, consuming torment, and resignation. And it wall all directed inward.

"No," I said, then after a moment, "You're in pain."

I stated the obvious.

"You didn't like killing him."

After a scoff and an ugly chuckle, Ranger finally met my eyes.

"No, Stephanie, I fucking _loved_ killing him. I enjoyed watching the blood seeping out of his head, and I liked seeing the life drain out of him and knowing I had done it," he spat it with loathing.

"So you know the monster I am," he continued, quiet, "So what are you doing here?"

I was surprised again. I hadn't expected him to come out and say what was bothering him so quickly, but I was glad he had, because I hadn't realized which part of this made his eyes go so dark. I knew it had made him unhappy, to kill the man, but I thought it was mostly that I had been there. Now I knew differently.

"You think yourself a monster," I stated calmly, "Because you stopped the man who would have stolen everything from me. Who has and would have continued to ruin the lives of strong women, to make their worlds as dark as his own? Who never would have stopped?"

"Babe, I knew the second you looked at me that you could see it too. This, this was just the top of the haystack. I'm dangerous for you. I don't feel emotion like other people. I don't feel regret, or remorse, or even guilt. All I feel is satisfied. I'm not even human."

"But you feel bad about the lack of those emotions," he stayed silent, "You understand how removed you are from it that you don't feel anything in reaction to it. Ranger, you _are_ human. Its not like you don't even notice that you should be feeling those things. You _can't_ feel those things, with the work you did. God, I'm stunned that after working in Delta Force you even think you should feel those things. Most people wouldn't after all that. Don't you get it? You have to protect yourself emotionally, become distanced, to do what has to be done. Ranger, you're not a monster, you're so fucking human that you are torturing yourself."

He stared at me for ages.

I don't know if what I had said had any impact. I don't know if it came through to him. How else could I explain that the mere concern about enjoying killing someone took him immediately out of monster territory? How did I explain that it didn't make me think less of him; it was part of the reason I was so in love with him? How did I tell him that his satisfaction with what was by all means, the confirmation of my safety, didn't disgust me so much as make me feel _cherished_?

"Babe," he said, and it sounded choked, "You have to leave. I could hurt you too."

He wasn't getting it at all.

"Really, Ranger? You could hurt me?" I walked right up to him and into his space, "Tell me, what was so satisfying about killing him? Was it pulling the trigger?"

"Yes."

"Watching the light leave his eyes?"

"Yes."

"Was it knowing he was never going to hurt anyone ever again?"

"Yes."

"Never going to hurt me again?"

"God yes."  
"Was it that it was flesh and brain matter that you could destroy, and it didn't matter who was in the chair?"

"No, it wasn't that," he had slowly, "I wanted to kill _him_, not just anyone. Him. I wanted revenge. Retribution. I wanted him to know pain."

"But you didn't torture him, Ranger? You put a bullet in his head. Lights out."

He thought for a moment.

"You didn't get pleasure out of the simplicity in the act," I said softly, "Don't you see, Ranger? You got pleasure from killing him because you were taking something ugly out of the world. Something that needed to go. In my mind, that makes you a hero."

His eyes shifted to me hastily.

"Don't call me that."

He sounded breathless, on edge, like I was so close to breaking him. I spoke to push him over the cliff.

"Why is it so much harder to accept that you are a hero than to accept that you are a monster? What darkness do you have that doesn't churn in the guts of the rest of us? I didn't even flinch when you pulled the trigger."

He snapped.

His lips slammed onto mine, and he didn't hold the desire, desperation, or madness like he normally did. And I wanted it. Wanted him crazy and out of control. Because he never let himself be, and my guess was that his secret, his self-restraint, and his control wasn't really about darkness, it was about vulnerability. He pulled back on a gasp and I could feel him shaking against me.

We fell into bed together. I don't know where our clothes went but his restraint went out the window, and before I could even manage to latch my lips to his neck he was pounding into me so hard, so fast, so unlike the last time, that I was coming in seconds. When he followed me, he was roaring and shuddering, and I felt his teeth scraping my neck as he buried his head in my hair.

By the time he had stopped trembling, the light had come back into his eyes and instead of climbing off of me, he settled his head between my breasts.

"Thank you," he whispered, voice rough with emotion, "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No," I said, stroking my fingers through his hair, "And you never will."

"Why do you trust me, even though I don't?"  
"Because, Carlos," I said, and his breath caught in his throat, "I know you like nobody does, don't I? I know you so well that I can make you lose your famed self control. I know you so well," I continued, "That even if you can't, I trust enough in you for the both of us."

_Baby, oh the secret's safe with me,_

_There's nowhere else in the world that I could ever be,_

_Nobody knows,  
Nobody knows but me._

"I love you, Babe."

"I love you too," I answered, "And you can continue to let everybody think you're a monster, if you want. You can pretend you're a hard ass. You can make it look like you kill without any second thought and without discretion. But you and I will never believe it. Never again, Carlos. Nobody knows, but we will."  
"We will," he repeated, and this time when his eyes looked into mine, I saw light reflecting back in them, and then I saw nothing, too lost in his kiss to realize that they had eased into deep, relaxed chocolate.

* * *

A/N: I hoped you enjoyed this. Please let me know if I should continue. I don't know that I quite captured what I was going for, or that all the paragraphs completely made sense. And I never intended for them to end up in bed together, but oh what happens, happens, does it not? Have a great day and thanks for reading!


	2. Come Away with Me

**A/N**: So hello again! Thank you for all your wonderful reviews! Not only did they make my day, but they encouraged me to write immediately. So it happened that this was the first song that came up, and it fit that since I had done comfort for angsty Ranger, Steph should get a chance. It was not on purpose, but I heard this song and this story just came out. I have edited the lyrics so they do not include all of the song, just the ones I thought were applicable.

I am sorry it is so short. Originally, it was even shorter; I was going to end it before the love scene. But still, it is quite short, so I will try and post another chapter soon to make up for it. I didn't want to force it to be longer just for that sake. I hope you enjoy and please, drop me a review if you liked it!

* * *

**Title**: Come Away with Me

**Inspiration**: Norah Jones

**Genre**: Angst/Romance/Comfort

**Rating**: M

**Summary**: Something happens to Stephanie to make her feel like her world is falling apart. And there is only one something, one _someone_, who can make her feel whole.

**Warning**: Brief sexual situations at the end, but really, its more emotion than it is sex.

* * *

The rain was falling. It was pounding the ground, and all I could see was splashes bouncing off black pavement as I ran, puddles reflecting what must've been buildings, but just looked like blurs of color through the rain, through the tears, through my pain.

It was dusk. The light was low and the car didn't see me coming, and I just saw light. I dove, and it swerved, and I was lucky. Flat on my back, the rain looked like bullets plummeting towards me, and I wondered if I laid here if they would destroy me.

I felt destroyed. God, I felt raw. I laid there and hoped that if it pounded hard enough, I would feel the cold, feel the pressure, feel anything but this hole the size of Massachusetts in my chest.

I had come here for a reason. I had gotten so close to solace, to relief, to escape. But I hadn't made it. I hadn't made it far enough, and now I was going to drown. In what, I didn't know. My tears. My despair. The rain pounding down into my nose and mouth. Any of them would do. Because I hadn't made it far enough. I hadn't made it to _him_, my solace, my relief, my escape.

God my _everything_.

It was all that mattered anymore. With one foul sweep everything else had disappeared, and now the only thing that mattered was that by the time night fell, I would be gone. And he would be with me.

_Come away with me in the night, _

_Come away with me,_

_Come away where they can't tempt us,_

_With their lies._

But his hands came through. They always did. They had when they pulled me out of that coffin, when they pulled me away from flying glass and bullets, when they protected me, when they had held me for a kiss that had been forbidden before we knew, when they had covered every inch of my body once we did know.

Hands became a warm body and the body led to lips that I kissed crazily while my own hands grasped at a mocha latte face that haunted and soothed me all at the same time.

_Come away with me,_

_And we'll kiss,_

_Come away with me,_

_And I'll never stop loving you._

And what was so incredibly perfect was that those lips were kissing me back, those hands were pulling me into that body, and when I finally pulled back, I saw ease reflected back at me in his eyes, and I forgot the desperation in my own gaze.

"Come away with me," I whispered, breathless from his kiss and the magnitude of my longing, "Now. Come away with me and there will be you and me and nothing else."

Behind the fear, the knowledge that he had a business to run, every logical thought and insecurity that made me doubt the words would come, I knew. Just as we had finally known all those months ago.

Some call it infatuation. Some call it blind. I call it _faith_. There was nothing I had more in him than faith and trust. And finally, that _faithful_ day, I had known that my trust in him extended beyond my mind and my body. I trusted in him, had faith in him, and loved him with everything I was: heart and soul included. I trusted him with them, and knew he would not break me, or my heart, just as he knew I would not crush him.

And so now, as we sat in the rain, and he wrapped a jacket around my shoulders, stared into my eyes, nose-to-nose, I knew that brush of his lips, that sigh of contentment and utter peaceful longing, and his words did not surprise me.

"God yes," he sighed, "We will go. Now."

And then I wasn't in the rain. I wasn't in despair. I wasn't feeling the gaping hole of loss and betrayal and emptiness. Soft sheets surrounded me. Warm hands, now, covered my naked body and pulled me against hard, velvety skin. Full, pliable lips kissed beneath my swollen eyes as I ran my fingers through long, solid black locks.

"Are you going to tell me what happened, Babe?"

"It doesn't matter," I spoke, and my voice no longer shook, "I don't care, anymore. You, this, this is what matters. This is what is important. This, God Ranger, this is everything."

His eyes filled with emotion. I don't know how I had never seen it before we knew. How I had thought he had a blank face, thought that he hid his emotions. Because before me was a man who was swelling with all of them, and as he slammed his lips into mine and slid inside me, we both gasped, and I knew now that it was at so much more than our physical joining.

He met my eyes and loved me harder with them than with his body. He sighed against my cheek, dipping his head and then inhaling harshly the scent of my neck.

"I love you, Stephanie," he said, lips now against mine, "I love you so much. Breathe, baby; God you feel like every fantasy of the best heaven anywhere."

With those words he gently pulled out of me and pressed back in, slowly, lovingly, feeling my body, running hands up to feel my breasts. And everywhere he touched, it was like I could feel exactly what emotion he did it with. There was no ferocity, no urgency, no claim being staked and no animal desire taking charge. It was like this act was a mere extension of the onslaught of emotion that was gripping the both of us.

He thrust inward, and I felt him cherish the way that my body fit to his own perfectly. His hand ran up my side, and I knew he adored me as he moaned at the way my breast fit in his hand as though God had measured. When he ran his thumb around my nipple, I could feel his awe: at how it perked up instantly for him, at how I responded to him this way and every way, at how much I was his and we were us and we would never be singular people ever again.

I have heard that when two people find each other, they feel as though they are two puzzle pieces that fit together. I understood that for our bodies, but as I felt him push his fingers under my head, push further into me, and bring our faces closer together, I knew that we would never be two puzzle pieces. There was no line that separated us. No piece to be fit.

We were one singular piece.

When I came, it was soft. I felt my body clench but it was nothing in comparison to the ecstasy that filled my chest as I literally felt my heart explode. It was okay. I didn't own it anymore anyway. And when I felt him, in reaction to my trembling body, my cry of his name, and the tears running down my cheeks, release inside of me, I felt that every single ounce of him was for me, mine, never really his at all.

Warm arms wrapped me up again. We kissed for ages, kissing away tears and intensity, and allowing the all consuming, overwhelming, utter _love_ die down enough so that it was manageable that we could not physically crawl into each other's skin. When my now dry eyes met his again, I knew for sure that not only did I belong here, but that if I had asked him to come away with me to Mars, or Venus, or anywhere, he would have. And I felt, as he stroked one hand through my crazy curls, that there was no question; I had always known. Because everywhere one of us went, so did the other. He didn't need to come away with me; we only came away together.

_And I want to wake up,_

_With the rain falling on a tin roof,_

_Where I'm safe there in your arms,_

_So all I ask is for you,_

_To come away with me in the night,_

_Come away with me. _


	3. Iris

**A/N:** As promised, the longer fic. I don't know where all of this angst is coming from. Usually, I'm the fluff queen, but I landed on this song and it just seemed _so_ angsty Ranger to me. This song, Iris, is what I consider to be one of the most romantic songs of all time. Intimate, beautiful, and raw, I tried to capture that in this story. This is definitely my favorite piece I've written in a long time, so please let me know what you think.

* * *

**Title:** Iris

**Inspiration:** The Goo Goo Dolls

**Rating:** M, for violence and sex

**Genre:** Angst, Romance

**Summary:** Ranger has been gone for too long. Maybe it wasn't all that long before, but now that he has her, he can't stand it. What happens when he snaps? Can she truly heal every bit of darkness that has ever left him scarred?

**WARNING:** As always, please obey the rating. This is seriously M. This story features violence and sex, so please read with caution.

* * *

**Iris**

I felt mud slide under my feet and steadied myself as the rain poured over my head, drenching my green shirt and camo pants so that they stuck heavily to my body. It was uncomfortable, but I hardly noticed as I seamlessly re-steadied my boots against dirt turned mud.

I ran harder. Felt my muscles ache, finally, as the nerves in my body began to feel cold and strain. I pushed it to the back of my mind. It did not matter. I was nowhere near finished yet, and as I circled the field again, I mentally checked off the lap number. At some point, I was sure, I was going to switch to that place where my mind went empty and my eyes glassed over, the one I had honed so well.

And that was what I was trying to do. Create that vacancy in the minds of these young men because they were going to need it. It could save their lives, and the lives of others. It had saved mine.

My first solo mission was in Somalia when I was twenty-three. Dressed in black, a sniper rifle draped over my small pack, I moved stealthily. I moved carefully. I snuck, aimed, and fired. I watched him drop. And that was all I saw.

I hadn't heard them, and I knew I had been silent. That was another thing these boys needed to learn: silence. I could hear them treading along behind me: their footsteps, their heavy breathing, their soft swears under their breath. They would've been dead if they were me. But I was me. And I had been silent.

But so had they, apparently. I hadn't heard them, on a night much like this one, rain pouring down in sheets. But over there, there had been no path. Only muck to work through, bristles to push out of the way, dusk to be wary of.

I woke in a cell. It was damp, and quiet; made of that painted mud, concrete, and wood mixture like so many of the buildings here. It was small, and I could feel dirt underneath me. My pack was gone. So was the gun. So was my shirt, and I noticed that I was dry. It had to be day. The half foot wide gap in the wall near the ceiling shone one beam of light into the room, and with it all I saw was bareness. And blood.

There was so much blood. Dripped onto my chest, still leaking slightly from my arm, I realized that after the bash in my head someone had christened the deal by shooting me in the shoulder. I didn't panic. Not even close. I sat and waited and when the man came in and spoke to me in broken English, I met his eyes with defiance.

I didn't scream. Not when they pressed salt into my shoulder wound. Not when they took a knife and ran thin, painful lines up my chest. The scars were mostly gone now, but one or two still remained. And they reminded me. Reminded me of how when that knife had pressed against my throat, and then through my hand, I had gone to that place. My mind cleared. I felt no pain; I felt nothing.

I drifted away.

Only when they thought I was done, and left me to die, did I return. But I felt part of me stay away, keep away, and I thought that part was lost forever.

My adrenalin didn't last long. I made it to my pick up point, days late, and was lucky enough to find the sat phone I had stashed there working, despite the rain. By the time they air lifted me out, I thought I knew that part of my humanity, or sanity, or _something_ stayed there in Somalia with my blood and my broken flesh.

But she came. God, did she ever. She came into the caverns of my soul and fished out the lost part, the part that I thought I had left with insurgents but that had always really been hers. And then I gave her the rest of me, and took all of her, and it was absolute, _heavenly_ perfection.

But now, I felt my mind drift, not to blankness, but to her. To her beautiful face: those soft, full, red lips that begged to be kissed, those sparkling blue eyes, that flush she got on her cheeks when I touched her and that wonderful, _unbelievable_ crazed hair of hers that circled her like a halo, showing her to be the angel I knew she was. She was my angel. I was fallen and she was there to save me. I would never get redemption, but somehow, I got heaven.

_And I'd give up forever to touch you,_

_Cuz I know that you feel me somehow,_

_You're the closest to heaven,_

_That I'll ever be._

I missed her. I ran and ran, watching the sun dim and the lights come on, and I trudged through blurs of rain with my mental countdown in the back of my head. They huffed and followed; they knew better than to ask to stop. This was for their own good, and they hated me for it now. But later, they would thank me. For now, they despised it, which was good. It made it easier for them to stay distant. Because right now, if anyone came close, they would see what this did to me. See that my thoughts no longer cleared, they focused on her. See that I was so far from okay because it had been too long.

This assignment had come to me with such urgency. Such importance. And I knew it was important, and they knew they would not have to force me to do it. Despite knowing what was right, I wanted, for the first time in a long time, to be absolutely and completely selfish. I knew I should care that the lives of good men were at stake, that my training them was necessary because I was the best, after all. That they needed me. But I didn't want to go.

I wanted to stay wrapped in her forever. I needed to feel her against me, safe and all mine. Didn't they see that I could no longer breath without her? That every day I spent sacrificing, I was feeling my lungs close up, the air grow thinner; I was dying?

So three months later I ran. Mud gave out and finally men behind me slipped and collapsed, and the momentum was lost with half a lap left. I sent them to the showers, and sent myself to my barracks. They were so cold. I sat on the grey blanket, tucked in to perfection like any good soldier, and pulled the photograph from between the bed and mattress.

And there she was. Beautiful and perfect, just like my memory. And I knew she would be. Every curve, every plane of her face, every expression was forever burned into my brain and no picture could do justice to the memory of her. She was beaming in the picture, so full of light, of strength, and I remembered back to when it had been taken. When we were together. When my arm had wrapped around her middle, she had gasped, let out a breathy giggle, and smiled into my shoulder.

There she stood, against me, hand wrapped around my shoulder, the tips of her fingers showing. She looked happy and innocent and in love. I remembered how I had leaned into her, then, and kissed her full on the mouth, despite Santos and his damned camera that I had been so thankful for later on. When she had pulled back, he was gone and she had smiled an entirely different smile for me: the one that told me she was going to ravish me on the floor.

_When all I can taste is this moment, _

_And all I can breathe is your light,_

_And sooner later it's over,_

_I just don't want to miss you tonight._

I couldn't wait any longer. God, if I didn't get to her, get her to me, really, because I couldn't get to her, I was going to lose my mind. I could feel it leaving me already. I laid down on the empty bed, and I felt as though I was lost, back in that hellhole of a cell, back being tortured. But this time, the torture was so much worse. I couldn't empty my mind anymore, because she filled ever crevice of me, and now when there was nothing left of me, there was her. I couldn't escape. Couldn't drift away into peace as my body was wretched back and forth by the unthinkable.

And I knew why. It was because this time, it wasn't just my body, though that was part of it. The gaping hole in my chest attested to that. It was all of me. My mind, my body, my soul were all victims of this torment, and she was both my escape and my tormenter.

When I could no longer stand it, I headed to the gym. In the boxing ring, one of my trainees, one of the better ones really, put two pads on his hands, and I started.

Three months.

Right hook.

Empty, God so empty but so full of her. Just enough, just all consuming enough, to be unmanageable.

Left jab, followed by right kick.

She was so beautiful. I just couldn't get past that. And I wasn't just talking about her body, but about everything she was. She radiated light into my darkness, filled me with sparkling emotion. She made me _feel_, like I had never felt before. She made me see things in color, vivid, crazy color, so that the rest of my existence I knew, I had only ever seen black and white.

_And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming,_

_Or the moment of truth in your life,_

_When everything feels like the movies,_

_Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive._

I pounded harder into him. Harder into what were supposed to be pads, but he got angry. Just like I knew he would; just as I wanted him to. The pads flew off his hands and we both went wild, but it wasn't a fair fight. I was faster, stronger, and more experienced, and before I could stop myself I was pounding away. He got in one good punch, and I felt blood seep down from my eyebrow, welcomed it, loved it for making me remember that just because I couldn't breathe without her, I was still alive.

I felt hands grip me and shook them off. I felt them again, two sets this time, and was pulled back by a rough "Ranger". Nobody here called me that. I was 'sir' or 'Commander Manoso,' but not 'Ranger'.

I looked up and found one set of the hands belonged to Tank.

"What are you doing here?" I spat out.

"Weekly check in, or did you forget?"

He was being snide, and I deserved it. I couldn't remember the last time I had lost control, so provoked an innocent into a fight just because I couldn't handle it.

"What the fuck is going on man?"

I couldn't have this conversation in front of them. There were a few of my men in this room, and I was not to show weakness. The problem was, I already had.

"Nothing."

"The hell it is," he said, "Carlos, I haven't seen you go at someone like that since Ranger school. And now you're training Rangers, so you think you should give return to the good old days? Have you lost it? Have you gotten weak?"

I lunged at him, but he was ready for me. He swept my legs out from under me, for the first time in ten years, and landed me flat on my back with a boot firmly placed on my chest. And as the wind left my lungs, I couldn't help the gasp that escaped.

"Stephanie."

"What?" he said, solemn now, removing the boot.

"Just fucking get me Stephanie," I said, my eyes closing for a moment in regret at my slip.

And in that moment, I was thankful that he knew me, could read me. Because I knew what he saw then. He saw vulnerability flash in my eyes, longing, desperate need I had so been trying to squash, and I hated myself for the weakness, and the inability to express this to him in a better way.

He gave me a nod, and I swung up and left the room.

And the day went on. I went into my normal routine. I showered, dressed in the same green shirt and camo pants, though clean ones, laced boots, and swung dog tags around my neck. I went into the mess hall and sat at the same seat, ate the same food, and stared forward.

But that's where the similarities ended. I heard the noise take a lull, and then a few catcalls. But mostly, I felt tingling up my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck and my arms rise up, and a rush of longing and adoration.

I turned.

And she was there. Beautiful as I could remember, dressed in jeans, black boots, and a wrap sweater, hair cascading down her back. It had grown, but other than that nothing was different. Light shown out of her eyes as though God himself existed behind the glassy orbs. Luscious lips spread into a smile. Our eyes met, and I stood. I couldn't look anywhere else. It was like a beam of greatness drew me closer, and before I knew it I was in front of her, only an inch between us, but not touching.

I took a breath. And when I inhaled, that shuddery mouthful, her sweet scent filled me and for the first time in three months I felt oxygen flow into my lungs. At the same time, she wrapped her arms around my neck, placing small hands at the base of my skull, and I pushed my fingers through her hair, positioned my hand on her hip, and the inch disappeared as out lips collided in a burst of craving and adoration. I wanted to worship her, and I wretched myself away as though pulling apart two things joined with superglue.

"Babe," it came out as half contented sigh, half desperate need.

"Carlos," she said my name, leaning our foreheads together so that our noses brushed against each other, so close that we breathed the same air.

_And I don't want the world to see me,_

_Cuz I don't think that they'd understand,_

_When everything's made to be broken,_

_I just want you to know who I am._

Desperation took over. That was the only way to explain why suddenly we had simultaneously dragged each other through the door to my room, why she was up against the door, and why I was frantically tearing clothing from her body.

Her hands moved as fast as mine, and before I could even comprehend what had happened I had slammed inside of her, and she was clawing at my back. Her legs wrapped around my waist, and I recklessly shoved a hand beneath her to take her weight. The other was alternating between running through her hair, over her breasts, and steadying us against the door. Fingers splayed wide against painted metal, she turned her face into my wrist and kissed, then yanked my head down with hands pulling at my hair until we were kissing as frantically as our hips were moving.

When she pulled away to scream I moved my lips to her chin and worked them down to the hollow of her throat, desperately kissing, licking, biting, and sucking every inch of flesh in between. I usually tried not to mark her visibly; the evidence of our desire for each other was something personal and not to be displayed for the whole world, but I couldn't find enough strength to stop as she groaned and offered her neck to me.

There was a time when possession had taken over, and I had left a huge hickey against her throat for the world to see. But now I knew she was mine, just like I was hers, and I no longer needed or wanted to demonstrate it to the rest of the world. But as she shuddered violently and came against me, clenching around me as I continued to move inside of heaven, I sucked harder at the hollow of her throat because it was just another bit of her that I wanted closer to me.

And she didn't mind. I knew it when she entangled her hands back in my hair and pulled hard, baring my throat and sucking at the love bite she had left on my shoulder when she had exploded on top of me.

Despite the fact that my body was wound so tight I felt like I might just pop, her gorgeous body, bared to me and coming, renewed enough sanity that I managed to lift her and stumble to the bed.

When she lay flat beneath me, I drew my hands up the sides of her body, removing the hastily pushed down bra and spreading her hair beneath her like a halo. I took a breath. Still inside of her, I took a moment to press my lips softly to hers, then brush our noses together because it was just so painful to not have her face against mine, her skin against mine, her body around me.

"Hi Babe," I sighed, running a hand against her face, swiping my thumb across her lips, staring into those mesmerizing eyes.

"Hi Carlos," she gasped, and I realized with some surprise that my body knew hers too well, and that I had started moving in that slow, lazy rhythm that drove her out of her mind.

"I'm going to worship you later. Show you how much I've missed you. I'm going to kiss every inch of your _unbelievable_ body and make you scream my name until you're hoarse."

"I know," she panted, "But now, love me," the last word came out as a mew, her head tipping back as I pushed deeper inside of her, and began a steady pounding of long, deliberate thrusts.

My eyes rolled back in my head as she wound her legs up my back and crossed her ankles, alternating moving them to my shoulders so that when I slammed into her slow, it was deep and hot, and bringing them down to my rear to urge me inside of her faster. It was so languid and sensual that my eyes crossed and my hands ran over her body with more and more urgency.

And then finally, I couldn't take the slow, delicious torture anymore. I slammed my lips onto hers for a kiss I knew wouldn't last long, and sure enough moments later she broke her lips away to gasp breathlessly as I pounded into her hard enough that she arched off the bed in ecstasy within moments. She looked wild and beautiful as she screamed my name, and I groaned as I felt her fluttering around me, drenching both of us.

With a few last thrusts, I jammed my hand between us and stroked her core in tight, hard circles and she imploded. Her eyes sprung wide open, her body arched completely off the bed, and she dug her fingernails into my hair and pulled roughly as her teeth fell on my neck.

With a scrape of her teeth and another tug at my scalp, my body swept with pleasure from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair she was so insistently pulling on. Everything in between was washed with absolute delicious heaven, and inside her, I exploded so hard that I watched dots appear in front of my eyes. All I could do was gasp for breath and hope desperately that I wasn't crushing her beneath me, as my limbs all but gave out from beneath me.

I shook against her violently, and then realized that she was shivering, and then couldn't figure out who was doing what and we just trembled against each other for long minutes. When my body finally caught up I rolled to my side, bringing her with me, and kissed her. The kiss seemed to take her from her trance, because moments later she was cupping my face and we were kissing wrapped around glistening, bare bodies.

_And I'd give up forever to touch you,_

_Cuz I know that you feel me somehow,_

_You're the closest to heaven,_

_That I'll ever be._

As we both came down, she ran soft delicate fingers up and down my chest, pushing me to my back so that she could rest her head against it, curls tickling my arm. I could feel her staring at the way my muscles clenched, then the way my body relaxed under her more soothing strokes. We sat there forever, her touching me, me adoring her. And then she ran the tip of her finger carefully along one fine white line, up, then another, down.

I could feel her wonder as the afterglow eased gently into quiet contemplation and curiosity. Feel her wanting to ask, and I myself contemplated just how long it would be until those lips parted in question and concern.

It didn't take long. Her fingers traced them, finding most despite the fact that they hardly showed against my skin, and finally, she spoke.

"Are you ever going to tell me about them?" came the quiet question, soft and loud in its gentleness, against the rings of screams from minutes ago.

I sighed slightly, and her eyes continued to follow the path of the lines, as though she could somehow erase them if she stared for long enough.

"No."

I spoke quietly, and it was only once the word had passed through my lips that she turned her head, rested her chin on my chest, and stared at me with big, azure eyes that I was quickly lost in.

"Why?"

"Because," I started, and I ran fingers gently through her tangled locks, "I don't want the images in your head. Querida, you know me. God, you know me like no one else does," my voice thickened, "But you don't have to know these things. You don't have to picture it; it doesn't need to haunt you the way it used to haunt me. I would never want something, some_one_, so beautiful and whole to feel something so crippling."

"But Carlos, I want to know you. This is part of who you are. I can take it."

I smiled. I knew she could take it. There was no doubt in my mind. And there was such a conflict within me; she had all of me, and this was a part of me, but I didn't know how to explain to her that even though her fingers and eyes could not erase the scars on my body, she removed them from my soul. That she healed me. That she had all of me already. This knowledge wouldn't help her be more a part of me, because she had already mended the darkness in my past. And I didn't want to see her light succumb to pain that no longer existed anyway.

"I know, Babe. I know you're strong. I have no doubt about that. But you are such a part of me now. If I tell you about them, you will feel the pain I felt then, just as I feel yours. What's the point, when I no longer feel it? When you have already taken it from me?"

She stared for a solid minute. I was surprised by her silence, and even more so when she lifted from my chest and placed a soft, full kiss on my mouth. Breaking apart, she drew her body down the bed and the same warm, loving kisses followed the path of her careful fingers, soothing and caressing with gentle precision.

"Your right, baby," she said, and I saw obsidian swirling in her normally light eyes, and caught the seriousness in her tone, the meaning in the pet name she so rarely used, "I don't need to know. Because I know you. That's enough for me. Maybe one day, I'll get the story. But for now, let's love away the pain you _do_ have. And mine. Because being separated from you was like being left without oxygen."

Just as I pulled her back up to me, rolled her beneath me, buried fingers in her hair and slowly plied her lips against mine, I realized what she had said, and all I could think as her long leg wrapped around my waist, was that we had finally lost our minds.

She was my oxygen. And I was hers.

And I knew that the next day, when I stood in front of the mirror, the scars would forever be gone.

Because she didn't just know me, she healed me so deep I forgot that the scars had ever really been there at all.

_I just want you to know who I am._

_

* * *

_

**A/N 2:** Hope you enjoyed! I mentioned that this is my favorite thing I've written in awhile, and it mostly is, but in the end, I wasn't sure it completely came together. I wrote some of the sections out of order, and I was worried it might not have been as cohesive as I would've liked. And I wasn't so sure about the ending either (it changed a few times), but alas, I had promised a prompt post, and I wanted to deliver. Sometimes spending too much with these things makes it worse anyway.

I hope that the details about Ranger's time in Somalia was interesting. It was some of the first non-romantic plot stuff I have written in a long time (at least for fanfic), and that being said, I don't really know that much about the army, Rangers, Somalia, or what kinds of things go on there. I hope this is believable enough. Thanks again for reading, and please drop me a **review**! They really encourage me, and I'll need it since I have nothing prepared for the next chapter! Not to mention, and more importantly, they always make my day.


	4. Hands Down

******A/N: **Hello again, and sorry for the long wait. I have been so uninspired, but I went back and was reading some of the _wonderful_ comments that you all were so kind enough to grace me with, and I wanted to give you something, even though I don't really think this is my best work (personally, I thought the last chapter was better, but I hope you'll read anyways). If you are at all interested in the process I used to get to this fic, or some of my thoughts about it, see the A/N at the bottom! Thanks for reading!

* * *

**Title: **Hands Down

**Inspiration: **Dashboard Confessional

**Rating: **T

**Genre: **Romance, Angsty-Fluff

**Summary: **I finally knew that even if she hadn't been sure, even if I had been wrong, I would have taken her certainty, her kiss, and even her destruction, if that were what she wanted.

**Warning: **Light sexual situations, but nothing particularly descriptive.

* * *

**Hands Down**

I glanced in the mirror and straightened my collar. I could remember the last time I had done this, and I didn't remember feeling like I might jump out of my skin beforehand.

Maybe it was because before, I had known the goal, and I had known that I would be successful in that goal. I was committed but not invested.

Maybe it was because it wasn't the first time.

Maybe it was because before, the answer wouldn't determine my life.

Before, it couldn't possibly have been my destruction.

And I knew it could be now.

I took a deep breath, and turned to stunning blue eyes, feeling my lips quirk up and her breath enter my mouth as I pulled her against me and kissed her.

_Breathe in for luck,_

_Breathe in so deep,_

_This air is blessed,_

_You share with me._

And it was already getting out of control. In the vacant calm of the apartment the night went wild, and I could feel her grip at my just straightened collar.

I so wanted to get there. To do this right. But as I pulled back, I caught a glance of a garter under her short dress, and before I knew what was happening, I was unzipping the back of it.  
I could feel her pounding against me.

Hear her breath catching and beginning to hasten.

I attempted to stop my body from pushing her into the bed, but before I could think straight, she was underneath me and my hand was running up her leg to play with the tempting piece of fabric wrapped around her thigh. I felt my heart thudding so loud in my chest that I thought she would pull back in alarm, worried that I was having a heart attack instead of just gearing up to restrain myself for the sake of the _pounding_ in my front pocket.

_This night is wild,_

_So calm and dull,_

_These hearts they race,_

_From self-control._**  
**

One of her legs wrapped around my waist, and I felt smooth, satiny skin beneath my finger tips that made me want to lose myself in her and forget that my sanity was about to break, because I didn't yet know.

And that was the problem.

This wasn't just a question. Wasn't just an answer. I knew intellectually _that_ question could wait, that really, it was nothing at all, but I wanted it. So bad. I wanted it in the way that I wanted her, which hovered at all consuming. I felt like I couldn't breathe until I found out, couldn't turn the 'reason' switch back on until I knew.

But I was too busy letting my mind stay lost as she touched me.

_Your legs are smooth,_

_As they graze mine,_

_We're doing fine,_

_We're doing nothing_

_At all._

When our lips met again, I thought that I was dying because my voice was silent, but I couldn't bear to tear my mouth off of hers long enough to speak. I was drowning in hope and opportunity and silence, and I wanted her to kill me just so that she wouldn't ever stop kissing me like that.

Her lips were soft and pliant, and she was slipping her tongue into my mouth and nibbling on my lower lip.

It was so blatantly clear that I belonged to her. She captivated my mind and made me dumb with desire and longing and so much fucking hope.

She could so easily destroy my very being, and instead of being terrified, I wanted to give it to her to destroy. I wanted her to break me, bury me, do whatever she wanted with me.

I wanted to be hers like nobody ever had before.

_My hopes are so high_

_That your kiss might kill me,_

_So won't you kill me,_

_So I die happy._

_My heart is yours_

_To fill or burst,_

_To break or bury,_

_Or wear as jewelry,_

_Whichever you prefer._

I finally managed to pull back and rolled to the side, facing her. She stared into my eyes, and I saw that hers were a deep azure, filled with heat and longing, and I wondered if mine reflected submission, because I felt like she already owned me.

The words were quiet.

I barely choked them out, as I pulled the box from my pants pocket, took her hand, and pressed it into her palm.

"Stephanie," I whispered, like it was something wrong, like someone could hear, like I was scared that _she_ would hear, "Marry me?"

Her breath caught, my heart stopped, and she pressed gently lips to mine.

I wrapped an arm around her waist and felt as though nothing existed outside this room, this bed, or her eyes. Everything else was just winding abyss; my future didn't lie out there. It was firmly centered in the woman in my arms.

The smile that broke across her calm face started my breath again.

"Obviously," was her soft reply, and I pulled her to me until there wasn't a millimeter between us.

"Babe," I breathed, opening the box, hearing her gasp, and slipping smooth metal onto her finger.

_The words are hushed_

_Let's not get busted,_

_Just lay entwined here,_

_Undiscovered._

I knew there would be questions later. Questions about why I hadn't told anybody I was asking, when the wedding would be, why I was settling down. There would be the usual ribbing from the guys about our sex life, and there would be my denial to discuss it because the idea of anyone else ever as close to her as I got sent me out of my mind.

And because I didn't get it anymore.  
At one point in my life, I had enjoyed sharing stories of my lovers. Or, more accurately, my conquests, because that's all they had ever been. Now, the same stupid questions just seemed juvenile, irrelevant, invasive even, because what I shared with Stephanie was so out of this world that there were no words to describe it, and no desire in me to share it with anyone else.

Yes, I knew there would be questions. But for now, the only question I cared about had an answer, and before me I saw my future unfold. For the first time in my life, I knew with absolute certainty that happiness was going to be the main part of that future, that light would forever grace my life, and that the adventures before me were not unspeakable, but spectacular.

_Safe in here from all the stupid questions:_

_"Hey did you get some?"_  
_Man that is so dumb._

We were silent. Silent as I stripped her of her clothing so she laid in my arms bare but for my diamond on her finger. Silent as I too lost ever shred of fabric, somehow managing to stay near, close all the time, because any idea of getting any farther from her seemed completely unthinkable.  
And we were just _so damn close_ when I finally sunk into her and felt her body accommodate and close around me, like it knew that I belonged there just as much as she did. Her lips parted and her eyes locked on mine again as my hands swept up her sides and laced with her fingers.

I hardly had to move. Her lips were drugging me, her eyes were hypnotizing me, and her body was driving me out of my mind. By the time she was moaning against me, I couldn't distinguish her little cries from my own groans, and when she whimpered and arched her back, I knew my sanity was lost forever.

_Stay quiet,  
Stay near,_

_Stay close_

_They can't hear._

_So we can get some._

As we came down, and she wrapped around me, I thought back to my nerves. My fear.

I found it so raw but simultaneously so inconsequential in the face of forever.

Forever, she could kill me with her kiss, tear apart my darkness, remind me of how her light radiated onto me, so I too must shine as she did.

She could break me with her laugh and her tears, and I would always welcome it, because she would break me all over again with her body, force me to shatter for her in a way no other woman ever had.

She could bury me for forever in her sensuous curves and riotous curls and pouty smile, and I would happily suffocate just to crawl under her skin.

Her kiss clawed into my heart, and I knew as she moved her hand against my face that the ring pressing into my skin was the very representation of her wearing it on display for all to see. She would forever wear my heart like a trophy, jewelry flashed gaudily to tell the world to whom I belonged.

And I would want her to.

_My hopes are so high_

_That your kiss might kill me,_

_So won't you kill me,_

_So I die happy._

_My heart is yours_

_To fill or burst,_

_To break or bury,_

_Or wear as jewelry,_

_Whichever you prefer._

I couldn't remember ever feeling happier in my entire life. A better day had never existed. The soft notes of jazz drifted in from the living room, and the light glowed from the soft stars out the window reflecting off of puddles on the ground. I inhaled the scent of her hair as she unwound it from her clenching fingers, and I twirled it in my own, knowing that I would never tire of the way they wrapped around me like she did.

It was silent again, but for our breathing and the hum of the music in the background.

And it struck me as odd, to have so much profound silence when my ears couldn't stop ringing. When I couldn't stop hearing her say that one, singular, perfect word over and over again.

_Hands down_

_This is the best day I can_

_Ever remember,_

_I'll always remember,_

_The sound of the stereo,_

_Dim of the soft lights,_

_The scent of your hair_

_That you twirled in your fingers._

She turned in my arms, and a soft groan caught in her throat as she plied her body against mine and told me we were late for our reservation at the restaurant, the restaurant where I was going to ask her to be my life.

I had wanted to do it right. To give her every bit of what she deserved.

I realized too late that a restaurant never could have possibly been the appropriate place to tell her that she was where I belonged.

Thankfully, she had come through, just as she always did. Without me even knowing it, she had guided me into skipping my mistake. Because there was no way that proposing to her the same way every other man did would have been good enough for her. Or me.

I was a selfish creature. I didn't want to share her with anyone else. I was glad nobody had been around to witness her eyes get wide and her uncharacteristically calm demeanor, which convinced me of her certainty more than her answer.

There was so much extravagant romance in the world. So many grand gestures that sounded great in theory but fell short because they were in place of deep, profound connection. And I realized now that all I had to do was look over at her during the most boring and insignificant of moments and ask, because together, we made calm crackle.

_And the time on the clock,_

_When we realized it's so late,_

_And you kissed me like you meant it._

Soft lips plied against mine in defeat at our missed reservation, and I knew then that in her kiss, she communicated every bit of conviction that she felt for our future together.

I finally understood then that the shake in my hand and the turning in my gut as I stood in front of the door had nothing to do with believing she would say no. It had everything to do with making sure that she wanted me with every fiber of her being, just the way I wanted her.

I had always believed it, but my darkness had clawed at my insides and taunted me, finding holes, convincing me that this was an impossibility that I was deluding myself into believing.

But I believed her. I believed that she meant it. I believed that she wanted me with her whole soul.

More than that, I finally knew that even if she hadn't been sure, even if I had been wrong, I would have taken her certainty, her kiss, and even her destruction, if that were what she wanted.

I knew that I would spend forever wrapped up in all of it, because she did mean it. And I welcomed my future with a mind that dizzied at the intensity of her beaming light, guiding me into a certain forever.

_And I knew,_

_That you meant it,_

_That you meant it._

* * *

**Crazy A/N: **1. I have pretty much abandoned randomly picking my songs. I was looking through my iTunes library, and I suddenly remembered this song and how romantic I always found it. I decided to use it even though it hadn't randomly appeared.

2. As a result, Ranger is kind of out of character. I think this is my most true song fic ever- the story pretty much follows the song (which is why the lyrics are every few paragraphs). The song isn't really how I usually see Ranger, but I tried to make it work.

3. While I followed the song lyrics to write this, I cut out about a stanza and a half that is just as sweet as the rest of the song, but that has him walking her home. I wanted them to stay in bed together, and I thought that part of the song applied to a first date better (incidentally, I started writing this as a first date, but it began morphing in the direction of a proposal, and then I heard the line about wearing his heart as jewelry, and I thought it applied really nicely to an engagement ring).

4. Sorry for the long ramble, but **PLEASE REVIEW**. As I said before, they were what inspired me to post something again. I have a few things on my computer that I haven't posted, mostly because I don't think they are really 'post-worthy,' but I enjoy reading them on occasion. I might post them at some point, but I'm not sure yet. I tend to think that posting pieces as opposed to corny or overly-dramatic stories illustrates better writing, but I also understand that people want you to produce lots of things.

**Thank you for reading!**


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